


Feeding Frenzy

by horselizard



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Cake, Food Kink, Gen, Handcuffs, Humiliation, M/M, Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 08:05:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12577360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horselizard/pseuds/horselizard
Summary: Years of gastronomic deprivation can make a hologram do strange things. Even when Lister is watching.





	Feeding Frenzy

One minor advantage of being a hologram, Rimmer had learnt early on, was that he could happily sleep on his front without worrying about breathing.

Three years and one hard-light upgrade later, he discovered the downside to this, when he woke in his bunk in the middle of the night to find his wrists cuffed together behind his back.

“What the smeg?” he grumbled groggily, forcing himself to drag his eyes open, and was entirely unsurprised when the shape looming over his bed resolved itself into one Dave Lister.

“I've got something for you,” Lister grinned, a note of conspiratorial excitement in his voice which was entirely at odds with what he'd just done to Rimmer.

“If it's a pair of handcuffs,” Rimmer growled, “I don't want them.”

Lister continued as though nothing was the slightest bit amiss. “Found it on that last derelict.”

Rimmer remembered the one: fancy-dandy officer-class fixtures and fittings throughout, with preservation facilities to match. He'd been so overcome with jealousy that he'd quickly found himself a task below stairs, dealing with reassuringly anonymous crates in a comfortingly dingy backroom, rather than explore the ship with the rest of them.

“Lister, you goit, are you going to let me out of these smegging cuffs or are you going to stand around making vacuous small-talk all night?” he spat.

Lister ignored him, and crossed over to a cupboard, a smile playing on his lips. Rimmer struggled and wriggled, trying to get himself upright, or at least keep the little bastard safely within his field of vision.

“I thought you might like it,” Lister said innocently, as he came back carrying a plate, on which sat... a cake. A chocolate cake. One of the most obscenely decadent chocolate cakes Rimmer had ever seen.

He felt himself start to salivate, and a blush slowly crept across his cheeks. _Now_ he knew where this was going.

In the week or so since their encounter with Legion, Rimmer had taken full advantage of the novelty of having a body again, indulging himself obsessively with all the sensual pleasures he'd been missing out on, just like when he'd borrowed Lister's body. However, the difference this time was that they were stuck on Starbug, with no jacuzzi, no stash of cigars, and not much more appetising in the way of supplies than Kryten's asteroidal lichen soup. They'd been eating a lot better since they'd stocked up from the derelict, but if Rimmer had known there was something like _this_ on board...

...well, now he knew, all right. And the temptation was so strong it hurt almost physically.

Lister chuckled, and Rimmer knew it was written all over his face, the need, the desire, the way he couldn't take his eyes off the damn thing. It was rich, dark, moist, glistening; thick ganache icing was spread all across the top and sandwiched generously in the middle and creeping down the sides; it would be his first taste of chocolate, his first mouthful of sweet, sugary, cloying overindulgence, in years.

And Lister wanted to watch him shove his face in it.

“You want it, don't you?” Lister purred, and Rimmer nodded. He couldn't have done anything else. His jaw was slack, he was practically drooling; there was no use denying it.

Carefully, Lister placed it in the middle of the floor, then he sat down beside it, arms hooked casually around his bent legs. “You can have it,” he said.

Rimmer felt his face burning as he contemplated what he was about to do. He should have resisted, should have refused to let himself be played like this, should have simply shot Lister down with a good few creative insults. With just a bit of good old-fashioned Rimmerish truculence, he could have forced him to give the prank up as a bad job and leave disappointed (having first, of course, unlocked the damn handcuffs). There was, in the normal course of events, nothing he liked better than not giving Lister the satisfaction.

Lister had found the one thing he liked better.

He shuffled about awkwardly in the bunk, trying to find a way of getting himself mobile, his eyes glued hungrily to the tantalising chunk of decadence in the middle of the room. His stomach fluttered with shame as he felt Lister watching him, enjoying his undignified performance; it crossed his mind to ask the goit for help, but he sorely doubted that would gain him anything but mockery. Somehow he managed to slide off the mattress onto his knees, and he started to make his way across the floor, the promise of rich, chocolatey succulence pulling him like a magnet. The need in him rose as he got closer, as he started to be able to smell it, the intensity of the aroma magnified by the newly sharpened sensations of his hard light drive (or was it just the years of deprivation?).

He was making a fool of himself, he knew, but he couldn't help himself – there was nothing he would stop at to be able to fill his mouth with that creamy, crumbly sweetness. Hot with embarrassment, he bent over, brought his face close to the smooth, shiny surface of the rich, dark icing...

He stuck out his tongue, managing to lick up a sizable smear of the stuff; he let out an almost orgasmic moan as the rich, chocolatey cream exploded over his sensation-starved tastebuds. He _had_ to have more; he hovered desperately over the cake, lapping frantically at the icing, each morsel both a heaven of delayed gratification and a hell of tantalising insufficiency.

Rimmer's tongue was long, as tongues went, but it could only stretch so far; no matter what angle of attack he tried, he could only get close enough to put an unsatisfyingly modest dent in the ganache without getting it on his nose or chin. He wished he hadn't tasted it, hadn't reminded himself of exactly what he was missing, because now he was half-delirious with want, his mouth awash with saliva, the strong chocolate scent wafting right up his nose and driving him crazy. All that was keeping him from getting what he craved was his protesting stomach muscles, and a few staunch scraps of pride...

He groaned as he made up his mind, and waved those scraps goodbye.

He plunged his face deep into the rich, decadent cake, eyes shut and mouth wide open, letting out a muffled moan of ecstasy as buttercream and ganache and light, moist sponge were mashed against his tongue. The thick, gooey icing was cold and sticky against his face, smearing across his skin and picking up clumps of crumbs as he thrashed his head around, trying to get as much of the stuff as he possibly could into his mouth; he didn't care. He didn't care how unpleasantly messy he was getting, didn't care what a spectacle he was making of himself, didn't even care about the sticky morsels of sponge that were going up his nose; he would happily spend all day with his face buried deep in buttercream if he could only keep on gorging himself on this rich, luscious, crumbly slab of indulgence.

He pushed his head down further into the chocolate cake, urgently, desperately, gobbling down every chunk he could get his lips on; he hit the generous layer of creamy icing sandwiched in the middle, and almost choked with pleasure. It rubbed all over his already-plastered face as he burrowed greedily into it, filling his mouth with the sweet, sticky cream, and making frenzied inroads into the bottom half of the sponge.

He was starting to feel slightly stuffed, slightly nauseous, as his hard-light drive simulated the bodily effects of wolfing down half a chocolate cake in mere minutes. He kept eating, welcoming those sensations too, the obscene gratification of stuffing oneself almost to bursting, of knowing it was a bad idea and simply not caring. All these feelings he hadn’t felt for so long… and the growing buzz of a sugar rush, increasing his reckless abandon, driving him to thrash around even harder in pursuit of delicious mouthfuls.

Finally, he could eat no more, the rich moist sponge tasting sickly to his overworked tongue. He lay there, full and sated, almost deliriously blissed out after his orgiastic self-indulgence, but coming down fast. In the little voices crept, commenting on his shocking lack of self-discipline, his shamefully undignified behaviour, his utterly unbecoming gluttony. And now, he knew, he was going to have to pay the price.

With effort, he dragged his head up out of the cloying mass of cake. His face felt heavy with clumps of sponge, some of which fell away as he straightened up, others of which stayed stubbornly stuck to the layers of thick icing smeared over his skin. He blinked his eyes open cautiously, then glared sullenly at Lister through buttercream-festooned lashes. Unsurprisingly, the little goit was grinning broadly, eyes sparkling at the sight before him. And what a sight it must be, Rimmer thought with a groan. He was, in every sense of the word, well and truly caked.

“There,” he muttered, the colour rising in his chocolate-covered cheeks. “You wanted to see me looking completely ridiculous; well, you’ve got it. Now let me out of these smegging handcuffs.”

“That wasn’t it, actually,” Lister said mildly, getting to his feet, and surveying the kneeling hologram. “I just wanted to see what you look like when you’re wild with desire.”

He tossed the handcuff key down next to the debris of the cake, and sauntered out of the room, leaving a flustered, gaping Rimmer to grapple with his restraints, and his words.


End file.
